Episode 21: VS7.5 - Sinners and Saints
by Voyager Season 7.5
Summary: ...Meanwhile, back in the Alpha-Quadrant.


Episode 21  
Sinners and Saints  
  
by Rocky  
  
Prologue  
Stardate 55132.3 (February 18, 2379)  
The sky was dull and overcast, but except for an occasional drizzle, the rain   
had held off. That state of affairs wouldn't last much longer; the wind was   
picking up. Admiral Owen Paris shivered as he looked out across the bay and saw   
the frothy waves whipping along its slate-gray surface. Looming overhead, the   
restored Golden Gate Bridge was a ghostly presence, rapidly disappearing in the   
encroaching fog.  
He could have simply ordered a site-to-site transport between his office at the   
Pathfinder project and the building where the meeting was being held, but he'd   
preferred to walk. Not so much for the exercise, but for the chance to clear his   
head. He pulled up his collar against the wind--somewhat awkwardly, as one hand   
was still clutching his briefcase. The data it contained was important--and had   
the potential for far-reaching consequences.  
Paris picked up his pace a bit, resolutely pushing aside any disturbing   
thoughts. There was no sense in borrowing trouble; he'd know soon enough how the   
others would react to his news. He checked his chrono. Damn. He was going to be   
late. Maybe he should have opted for the transporter after all. He redoubled his   
efforts, not breathing easier until the majestic dome of Cochrane Hall came into   
view.  
The complex of buildings which made up Starfleet Headquarters was located on the   
site of the old Presidio, a fort first built in 1776. Over the centuries, it had   
served as a military post under the flags of Spain, Mexico, and the United   
States. Under the latter, the Presidio had played a logistical role in every   
major American military conflict up to and including WWIII, though many of its   
buildings had not survived the onslaught of that brutal global conflict. Paris   
smiled grimly to himself. During the Breen attack a few years back, those few   
historic edifices that had survived Earth's final war had actually fared better   
than many of the more recently built structures.  
Still holding firmly to his briefcase, Paris made his way to a small,   
unobtrusive building, which stood further back from the imposing towers that   
were at the heart of HQ. Ignoring the front entrance, he went around the side to   
a small door. He tapped in a code and waited.  
The door slid open and Paris stepped into a seemingly deserted foyer. He moved   
to the far wall, placed his palm in a shallow depression and submitted to a DNA   
scan. Once his identity was established and accepted, he proceeded to the   
turbolift and stated his destination.  
As the 'lift rushed downward, Paris checked his chrono once more. Despite   
himself, his thoughts strayed again to the data he carried, the latest reports   
from Voyager which had arrived just that morning.  
From the sound of voices coming from the room, he could tell the meeting was   
already in progress. Of course, he thought to himself, why should they have   
waited for him? Once, anything related to Voyager would have been the primary   
item on the agenda; now there were other things which took precedence. With   
regular monthly communication, news from Starfleet's furthest-flung vessel was   
no longer a novelty. He supposed he should be grateful that the Pathfinder   
project was still important enough to ensure that he was included in these   
monthly meetings with the most powerful and influential voices among the   
Admiralty. If the truth were told, more 'real' Starfleet policy was formulated   
in this small unassuming room, than anything that came out of the deliberations   
of the General Staff.  
Jack Hayes, Starfleet's Commander in Chief, looked up and nodded briefly as   
Paris entered, but did not interrupt the speaker, a grizzled man who sat to his   
right. Paris slid unobtrusively into a seat at the foot of the oval conference   
table and glanced around the room, noting who else was present.  
Bart Cobum, who was currently speaking, was one of the most senior members of   
the Admiralty, although most of his career had been spent behind a desk. To his   
right was William Ross, who looked depressed as usual. Paris could not recall   
ever having seen the younger man smile. Alynna Necheyev occupied the next seat   
over, her mouth pursed in disapproval. Whether it was directed at him, or at   
what Cobum was saying, Paris didn't know. Norman Blanc occupied the last seat on   
that side of the table, his face in repose faintly scowling. A long white scar   
wound its way across his left temple and down the side of his face. Paris had   
never understood why Blanc hadn't chosen to have it removed, nor what possible   
significance it held. Rachel Teller, a wizened, white haired woman, sat on   
Hayes' left. Just past her 108th birthday, she was highly resistant to any   
suggestions that perhaps it was time for her to retire, claiming, with perfect   
truth, that she was still as sharp as she had ever been. The seat next to her   
was empty. Paris remembered that T'Lara had been recalled to Vulcan to deal with   
an illness in the family, which left Gelb, a Nereid, as the sole non-Human   
present. How did we get to be so Terracentric, so set in our ways? Paris asked   
himself and leaned back in his chair with an inaudible sigh.  
The mood in the room was relaxed, as it well should be. For the first time in a   
long while, no major foes loomed on the horizon, and the economic downturn,   
which had swept many of the Federation worlds in the aftermath of the war, was   
showing clear signs of reversal.  
Unconsciously echoing Paris' thoughts, Teller responded to a question from   
Hayes. "The rebuilding efforts, both in the Federation and on its allied worlds,   
continue to progress on schedule. This in turn has led to a significant lowering   
of unemployment, now down to an average of 4.7% on most Federation worlds. As a   
result, overall productivity increased by 1.6% in the last quarter," she said,   
without glancing at the PADD in front of her.  
"All of which contributes to the relative quiet in the sector," Hayes noted.   
"Anything else, Bart?"  
Cobum nodded. "The situation with the Breen is still not quite optimal, but it's   
under control. Nothing to worry about on that front."  
Blanc smiled tightly, causing the area around his scar to pucker. "'Never turn   
your back on a Breen,'" he said, quoting a well-known Romulan adage.  
Cobum frowned. "They have regularly been permitting weapons inspectors access to   
their facilities, and have been abiding by the disarmament clauses hammered out   
at the end of the war. For all intents and purposes, they're serious about   
wanting normalization of relations with the Federation." He paused. "You know   
very well that without the 'encouragement' of the Dominion, they would never   
have opened hostilities in the first place."  
"Yet they were responsible for some of the most devastating attacks during the   
war," Blanc shot back. "If it weren't for their weapons--"  
"That subject has been discussed thoroughly and is now closed," Hayes cut in   
firmly. "Now is not the time to rehash old battles." He turned back to Cobum.   
"Which reminds me, anything of note happening in the Gamma Quadrant?"  
Cobum shook his head. "Our colonies there are reporting all quiet, and no   
problems with the Dominion or their allies."  
"Good." Hayes tapped his stylus idly on the tabletop. "Next, Cardassia?"  
"Peaceful elections were held three weeks ago under the auspices of Federation   
observers," Ross said, frowning slightly over his notes. "The premier-elect,   
Duloc, ran on a platform committed to expediting Cardassia's recovery. Due to   
the concentration of effort and resources, the homeworld has largely been   
restored to what it was before the war, but the outlying colonies are still in   
need of help. Duloc has already announced his intention of requesting additional   
financial and material aid, and the signs are that the Federation Council will   
most likely agree." He put his PADD down. "We currently have the best   
relationship with the Cardassians that we've had in over two decades, even   
counting the first few months after the treaty was signed back in 2370." He   
cleared his throat, but wisely chose not to touch on the events that happened   
*after* the treaty had gone into effect. "Both the past and present governments   
have goals similar to our own for the region and are not displaying any   
expansionist tendencies."  
"Excellent." Hayes turned to Necheyev. "And the current state of relations with   
the Romulan Star Empire?"  
Necheyev had never been one to mince words; she did not disappoint now. "It can   
best be described as a 'cold peace,'" she said flatly. "So much for the hopes   
that our military alliance would be the starting point for something more. The   
Federation continues to be eager for scientific and cultural exchanges, but the   
Romulans appear to be less 'enthusiastic.'"  
"B-b-but there have been a number of conferences recently which were attended   
b-b-by Romulans," Gelb said in surprise, his gill slits flapping rapidly. His   
voice sounded gurgly, as if he was speaking under water; a native of a world   
whose surface was 97% water, he was equally at home in an aqueous or gaseous   
environment. The tiny golden scales that covered his epidermis twinkled in the   
light, as he turned to Necheyev questioningly.  
"True, but the consensus has been that at these events the Romulans tend to   
listen a great deal and yet say very little in return," said Necheyev.   
"Doubtless hoping to learn all they can about our scientific breakthroughs,   
while keeping us as much in the dark as possible regarding their own."  
Gelb shook his head sadly. "Not quite the relationship we had in mind."  
"Even a cold peace is better than a hot war," observed Teller, shifting slightly   
in her seat. "Especially considering the recent history of our interactions with   
the Romulans--and the roots of our recent 'alliance.'" She glanced as if by   
happenstance at Ross, who looked away uncomfortably. Necheyev caught the by-play   
and frowned.  
Paris sat quietly as they ran through the rest of the agenda, not really paying   
much attention. At heart, he was a scientist, not a policy maker. He didn't perk   
up until Gelb mentioned that Starfleet's latest attempts at developing   
transwarp, under the guidance of Leah Brahms at the Theoretical Propulsion Lab,   
had run into yet another difficulty.  
"Still having problems?" said Blanc, grimacing. "We've never had any luck with   
transwarp, dating all the way back to the early experiments on the Excelsior   
nearly a century ago. Perhaps it's time to simply accept that we will be unable   
to produce a working prototype."  
"But look at Voyager's experience," reminded Teller. "They managed to develop a   
transwarp drive--"  
"Using Borg technology!" Blanc said, angrily. Paris suddenly was reminded that   
Blanc's only son had died at Wolf 359.  
There was a moment of tense silence, broken when Gelb said, "Yes, Voyager   
developed transwarp, b-b-but look where it g-g-got them. They were lucky to   
survive."  
Paris stirred, but did not say anything.  
"What about transferring La Forge to the TPL?" suggested Ross. "He's one of the   
best engineers in Starfleet. And I understand he has worked with Brahms in the   
past."  
"Geordi La Forge of the Enterprise?" sniffed Necheyev immediately. "Good luck   
getting any of Picard's people to transfer off that ship voluntarily." Her tone   
left no doubt what she thought were the chances of that happening.  
Blanc muttered, "Another sign of one of the biggest problems plaguing Starfleet   
these days, the damn 'cult of the captaincy', where personal loyalties seem to   
count for more than duty oaths."  
Hayes sighed. "That's neither here nor there." He made a note with his stylus.   
"I'll see what I can do about La Forge. And I'm not quite ready to write off   
Voyager's experience with transwarp as a complete failure. It may very well be   
that there is some valuable information to be gleaned from there. After all,   
they *were* able to travel about 10,000 light years before the drive went   
critical."  
Hayes turned to Paris. "And last but not least, we have the monthly update on   
Voyager. The latest message via the data stream was received this morning, I   
believe?" Paris nodded, but before he could say anything further, Hayes   
continued. "When we last heard from them, Voyager was still on the planet New   
Hope, but were expecting to leave shortly. They planned to make a stop at one of   
the Vordai space stations to finish off repairs, primarily those dealing with   
the exterior hull and deflector dish, and then resume their journey.  
"Even though we're of course disappointed that their transwarp experiment   
failed--" here he nodded at Gelb, "--and Voyager's return is not as imminent as   
once expected, I know you all share in my relief they're still alive and will be   
able to continue on their way." Hayes took a sip of water, and said in a   
confiding tone, "I for one was sure they were going to be stranded on that   
godforsaken planet for *years*, till our deep space vessels could reach them."   
Murmurs of agreement followed his statement.  
Paris glanced around the room. Hayes was correct--there was palpable relief, but   
it wasn't exclusively due to Voyager's survival. No, he realized with a sinking   
heart, it was that Voyager wouldn't be returning just yet. He'd always known   
that their return would open a can of worms--on several levels--that no one   
really wanted to deal with. But now, the other admirals were convinced that the   
ship--with its Maquis crewmembers and a captain who'd gotten used to operating   
in the absence of any authority other than her own--was still far enough away   
not to be a concern.  
Time to drop the bombshell. "Actually, Admiral Hayes, your information is not   
entirely correct," Paris said calmly.  
"Oh?" said Hayes.  
At almost the same time, Gelb said eagerly, "Have they figured out what went   
wrong with the drive?"  
"No, that part is true--the transwarp was a failure," said Paris. He paused.   
"But Voyager should still be home within the year."  
"But they're 15,000 light years away! At maximum warp, that would still put them   
at least a decade from Federation space," said Ross blankly.  
"If they were limited to conventional warp drive, yes," said Paris.   
"Fortunately, that is not the case. Over the past six months on New Hope, a team   
of their engineers developed a workable slipstream, using a new alien technology   
they first came into contact with on--"  
"Just how many new alien technologies does Voyager have?" said Blanc in   
exasperation.  
"You may as well ask how many lives a Circassian cat has," retorted Necheyev a   
little sourly.  
Hayes quickly recovered his composure. "Regardless, Voyager is on her way home,"   
he said firmly. "And I'm sure you'll all agree that this is good news."  
Paris glanced at him sharply. Was it his imagination, or did the Commander in   
Chief not look too happy?  
"But the question is," said Cobum thoughtfully, "What are we going to do about   
it?"  
Act 1  
"It's so nice that you could stop by," Anne Carey said over an afternoon tea   
tray at her home in County Cork, Ireland. She lifted the teapot and poured for   
her guest.  
"Well, I was practically in the neighborhood anyway--not like I beamed over from   
Seattle," Kaylyn Richardson answered, accepting a cup with a smile. She bore   
little resemblance to her more famous sister, Ensign Marla Gilmore, formerly of   
the U.S.S. Equinox, now stationed aboard Voyager. She held up a hand. "No milk,   
please, just sugar."  
Anne passed her the sugar bowl. "How long will you be staying in London?"  
"The conference runs until the end of the week. Five days total, though   
honestly, it could just as easily been consolidated into three. They've really   
spread out the sessions--we have a lot of free time built in."  
"Like as not people want to do some touring while they're at it, I suppose."   
Anne broke off as the boys came into the room.  
"Mum, can we have some cake?" JJ asked, eyeing the pastries and scones.  
"Yes, you may," Anne said. "Just one piece each, though." She turned back to her   
guest. "Kaylyn, these are my boys. JJ is the redheaded lad currently showing an   
abysmal lack of manners--" she pulled a mock-frown at her oldest son who had   
taken a mouthful large enough to render himself speechless, "and that's   
Patrick--" she nodded at the smallest boy who grinned impishly in return. She   
draped her arm around the shoulders of the third boy, who was much swarthier   
than the others. "And this is Luis Ayala, Michael's son, who's staying with us."   
Luis smiled shyly and then ducked his head. "Boys, this is Mrs. Richardson."  
"Please, no need to be so formal. Just 'Kaylyn' is fine."  
"Nice to meet you," JJ said, clearly the spokesman. "Come on, let's go," he   
ordered the others, and they darted out quickly, their hands and mouths full.  
Anne shook her head. "These boys..."  
Kaylyn laughed. "I'm sure they keep you busy."  
"Oh, that they do. Still, I wouldn't have it any other way," Anne said with a   
smile that quickly faded. It hadn't been easy being a single parent all these   
years. When Voyager disappeared, JJ had been seven years old, Patrick only   
three. Seven long years had since passed, the majority of the children's lives,   
and it would still be a long time until they'd see their father again, until the   
family would be complete once more. There had been times that only the necessity   
of being there for her children had given her the strength to keep going. She   
mentally shook herself and focused her attention on her guest once more. "I'm   
really glad you could visit, Kaylyn."  
"Likewise." Kaylyn looked around the peaceful sitting room and smiled at her   
hostess, very much at ease. Although they'd only met in person once before, at   
the Voyager Family Association picnic almost a year earlier, they'd since kept   
up a lively correspondence on an almost daily basis and had developed a close   
friendship.  
"I confess," said Anne, playing with the tea cozy, "I have an ulterior motive in   
bringing you over here this afternoon." At Kaylyn's questioning look, she added,   
"I need your help."  
"Sounds serious," Kaylyn said, putting her cup down on the saucer. "Is something   
wrong?"  
"Oh, nothing's wrong," Anne said quickly. "The news from Voyager this month was   
good, and in fact, Joe's letter was especially--" she stopped for a moment. "Did   
Marla mention anything 'unusual' in her last letter?"  
Kaylyn shook her head. "Nothing out of the ordinary. She said that everyone was   
looking forward to getting back in space once more, also mentioned something   
about a special gift that Lieutenant Kim had gotten her..." her voice trailed   
off. She took a sip of her tea. "I have to say that every month when I see the   
Voyager security code attached to an incoming transmission, my heart is always   
in my mouth, wondering if something has happened to Marla." She forced a smile.   
"Maybe I'm just paranoid, but after having received that official 'we are very   
sorry to inform you of the loss' *once* already, I guess I'm just a little   
spooked."  
"I don't think you're paranoid at all," Anne said, patting her hand. "I feel the   
same way. I worry about Joe a lot--in fact, a few months ago I had this   
recurring nightmare that he'd been taken hostage and killed on an away mission."   
She gave a shaky laugh. "I don't think I relaxed until I heard from him in the   
next datastream."  
Kaylyn gave her a sympathetic smile. "And was he all right?"  
"Yes, he was fine. Well, they had a small explosion in engineering, something to   
do with the Prixin preparations, I believe. But aside from a broken wrist, he   
was all right."  
"Thank goodness for that," Kaylyn said. "Marla suffered *another* concussion a   
few months back as well." She sighed. "Never a dull moment."  
"Not when you've got loved ones in Starfleet," Anne agreed.  
"Back to your ulterior motive," Kaylyn said, buttering herself another scone.   
"What's up?"  
"I was thinking, every month we, namely the families, get a letter from our   
people on Voyager. We hear all the personal news, but not much about the ship as   
a whole." She took a sip of her own rapidly cooling tea. "Joe does mention every   
now and then what's happening with some of the other people in his department,   
or general news of major importance, but that's about it."  
"Marla's pretty much the same," Kaylyn said. "I didn't even know that the chief   
engineer had had a baby until I saw it on the newsvids."  
"Yes, the they run a monthly 'Voyager update' feature," Anne said. "And   
occasionally Admiral Paris, or more often his wife Alicia, sends along a little   
more general information."  
"Not to everyone," Kaylyn said. "I don't think my family has ever heard directly   
from the Parises."  
"He only contacted me once, actually. Well, the Admiral is very busy with the   
overall Pathfinder project," Anne said, smoothing out her napkin. "It's really   
not fair or realistic to expect him to find time to communicate personally with   
each and every family." She paused. "Which is why I think we need to put   
something together on our own."  
"Like a family newsletter?" Kaylyn suggested.  
"Exactly," Anne said, leaning forward. "Even before the picnic last year, there   
was an informal network between various families to share news and information.   
As soon as someone heard anything, they'd call some of the others, and they'd   
pass it on and so on." She fell silent for a moment, remembering how it had   
begun. At the beginning, when Voyager was first reported missing, there was no   
sense of solidarity among the families. Even after the memorial service two   
years later there had been little or no contact between any of the newly   
bereaved. But a few years later, when word first came that Voyager had survived,   
Starfleet had held a special briefing for the families. Afterwards, some, like   
Anne, had made a point of meeting and talking with the others. That was when she   
first became acquainted with Gretchen Janeway, Phoebe Robbins, Alicia Paris, and   
Lieutenant Greskendrtregk, to name a few. It had been a major turning point for   
them all. Up to then, they'd all been grieving by themselves, bearing the burden   
of their loss alone. Anne had attended some Starfleet support groups but nothing   
on a regular basis. Now finding others in the exact same situation as she was   
herself was very comforting, and she was eager to pursue the connection.  
Unlike some of the other Starfleet relatives, she had made a point of reaching   
out to some of the Maquis families as well. They were equally affected after   
all, and after hearing about the fusion of the two crews into one unified whole,   
Anne considered it foolish to maintain any degree of separation. Since the start   
of the Pathfinder project, she had gone out of her way to meet and become   
acquainted with family members of the former Equinox crew as well.  
Kaylyn reached out and squeezed her hand. "I never really told you how much I   
appreciated your including the 'E5' in your network, Anne. Everybody else has   
held us at arms length--it wasn't until much later that Starfleet ever told us   
the full story about what happened with Captain Ransom, and how and why Marla   
and the others were the only survivors."  
Anne looked away, embarrassed. "I'm really sorry about that, Kaylyn. If it were   
up to me--"  
"Yes, I know. But unfortunately, it wasn't. And like it or not, your attitude is   
still a rarity." Kaylyn took a deep breath. "I don't know what's going to happen   
when Voyager get back. My husband is a lawyer, and he's been quietly sounding   
out a few people about Marla's situation--it doesn't look good. Still, I know   
I'd rather have her back safe and sound, even if she does get drummed out of the   
service." She dabbed at her eyes. "But it's foolish to worry about that now, as   
it's going to be a long time before Voyager gets back. A lot can happen in a   
decade or so."  
"True," said Anne, "But it's not going to take that long--that's what I wanted   
to tell you. Joe and some of the others have been working on a slipstream drive,   
all those months they were stuck on that planet, and they think they've   
succeeded. Joe says not to get our hopes up too much, but if all goes well--and   
he's sure it will--they may very well be home within the year!"  
"That would be wonderful!" Kaylyn said. "Oh, Anne..." She stopped suddenly. "Why   
wasn't this mentioned on the newsvids? Or in an official announcement from   
Starfleet?"  
"I don't know," Anne said slowly. "Unless they don't want to get our hopes up.   
Remember what happened with transwarp, after all."  
"They'll have to break the news eventually," Kaylyn pointed out, "especially as   
Voyager gets closer."  
"You won't get any argument from me," Anne shrugged. "Regardless, that's the   
sort of thing I thought the newsletter would be perfect for. To make sure   
*everyone* is kept apprised of all new developments, and not have to depend on   
the official PR people for it."  
Kaylyn considered. "It's a great idea, Anne, but were you considering handling   
this yourself?"  
"Of course," Anne said in surprise. "Why wouldn't I? With some other volunteers,   
that is."  
"Don't you have enough on your plate already? I mean, I know you've been doing   
some work with the Federation Relief Agency, and you've got your own career. On   
top of all that you're raising your boys on your own, plus you've taken in Luis   
Ayala as well--are you sure you can handle the responsibility of running a   
newsletter?"  
Anne smiled. "It really shouldn't be too much different that what I'm already   
doing. As I said, we've already had an informal information sharing network--now   
it's just a question of streamlining the process." She paused. "But I could use   
some help."  
"Ah, that's where I come in," Kaylyn said knowingly.  
"You and a few of the others." Anne walked over to the desk in the corner and   
switched on the computer. "I've already been in touch with Greskendrtregk a   
number of times--in fact, he's been the one who's been getting the word out   
about various Voyager Family Association events to those people who are located   
offworld. Like Commander Tuvok's wife on Vulcan, Ensign Chell's sister on   
Bolarus IX, Lieutenant Torres' uncle on Qo'noS." Anne touched a few controls.   
"It was really convenient when he was stationed on Deep Space Nine, but he was   
transferred a few months ago. Now he's on the U.S.S. Halcyon."  
Kaylyn leaned over. "Actually, sending it out isn't going to be a problem--once   
you have the newsletter, you just need a database of addresses and it's taken   
care of. What's going to be time consuming will be gathering all the items each   
month and putting it together." She straightened up. "Would you want it to come   
out more often than once a month?"  
"No, that should be enough, especially since we only have a datastream   
transmission once a month at present, though that may be subject to change as   
they get closer." Anne brought up another file. "Here's the list of friends and   
family for each member of the crew."  
"Where did you get these from?" Kaylyn asked. "You've got a lot more than just   
the standard 'emergency contact' addresses here."  
"I've got those as well, but basically, these are the names of all the people   
who have been writing to Voyager since regular communication was established.   
Pathfinder was keeping very strict records, making sure that no one sent any   
messages who wasn't on the approved communication list."  
"Some have undoubtedly changed over the years," said Kaylyn as she started   
reading. "I don't even recognize some of these names. Who's this?" she asked,   
pointing to a particular name near the top of the list. "Mark Johnson? Is he a   
relative of the captain's?"  
"He was engaged to Captain Janeway seven years ago, before the ship was lost,"   
Anne said quietly. "That's the older list you're looking at; I'm pretty sure   
he's not on the current one." She tapped a few controls. "Here, this is more   
accurate and up-to-date."  
"I wouldn't be surprised if a number of 'significant others' have moved on,"   
Kaylyn said as she continued reading.  
Anne nodded. "Harry Kim's fiancé, Noah Lessing's wife. .." She fell silent,   
wondering if maybe these weren't the healthy ones, the people who were able to   
move on instead of clinging to the past, living on hope.  
Echoing her own thoughts, Kaylyn asked, "I was wondering, Anne--you don't have   
to answer this if you don't feel comfortable--but after Voyager was officially   
declared lost, did you ever think about marrying again?"  
"Not really," Anne hedged, "I had young children to think of, and when you come   
down to it, I just wasn't ready yet. The boys were so very little--Patrick   
hadn't even started school when Voyager disappeared."  
"But other spouses also had young children, like Noah Lessing's wife--" Kaylyn   
pulled herself up short. "I'm sorry. This really isn't any of my business, and   
the last thing I want to do is look like I'm passing judgment on someone for--"  
"We're friends, Kaylyn, and it's OK for you to ask me this. I wish I had an   
answer for you, but I just don't." Anne sighed. "I guess it depends on the   
individual. I just know I wasn't ready to give up on Joe, and in hindsight I'm   
really glad I didn't. Though Joe did, well, 'scold' is not quite the appropriate   
word. He said he wouldn't want me to spend the rest of my life alone, out of   
some misplaced sense of loyalty and duty. If he really were dead, that is. And   
being that he's not, he was damn glad I waited!" Anne smiled, despite the tears   
she felt threatening. "You might also ask what about those relatives who still   
cling stubbornly to hope, even after getting definitive word that their loved   
one is dead. Look at Mitch Dalby, for example."  
"Dalby--"  
"The twin brother of Ken, one of the Voyager Maquis. Ken was killed during one   
of the battles with the Borg last year. Mitch was also a Maquis, and was   
involved with Mariah Henley, maybe even engaged once, I think. He was not on the   
Liberty for that mission in the Badlands--he'd sustained severe wounds in a   
previous raid and had been left at the base camp to recuperate."  
"I take it he was one of the refugees from the first waves of Jem'Hadar   
attacks?"  
Anne nodded. "He spent the majority of the war years in a Federation prison."  
"I still don't know many of the family members," Kaylyn commented. "Heck, I'm   
still not as familiar with the names of the Voyager crew themselves."  
"Give it time," Anne said. "All right, let's go through this in some type of   
order. Commander Daeja Thev. She's a regular correspondent for Captain Janeway.   
"  
"Is that a relative?" Kaylyn asked.  
"No," Anne replied, "I think just a good friend."  
"On the list?"  
Anne hesitated and then said, "Should we keep this to just family members, or   
not?"  
"Any one who's writing on a regular basis should be included," Kaylyn said   
decisively. "After all, there are some members of the crew who don't have any   
close relatives, or else a friend of the family is acting as the relay or   
contact person."  
"Good point. Other family members for Captain Janeway include her mother and   
sister. " Anne checked off those names. "Commander Chakotay has a sister, Maya,   
married to Esteban Lupes and living on Dorvan V. Also a cousin, Terven, in   
Ohio."  
For some time they worked their way through the list of crew, in some cases   
making a note to check for more current addresses.  
"Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres," said Anne. "An uncle, K'Nar, on Qo'noS, plus a   
cousin, Elizabeth Torres Steinbach who lives in Geneva."  
"What about parents? I've got a John Torres listed here," said Kaylyn.  
Anne hesitated. "I don't know the whole story, but apparently the lieutenant was   
estranged from her father and her mother is dead. Stick with the cousin as her   
primary contact--we'll let Elizabeth decide how much information to pass on to   
him and how much contact there should be."  
"I'm sorry, Anne, but I don't agree. Let John Torres make the decision if he   
wants to be involved or not."  
Anne sighed. "You're probably right." She stretched. "Last in this section is   
the Paris family."  
"You think the Admiral needs a newsletter?" Kaylyn said. "He's in charge of the   
whole Pathfinder project! There's probably nothing going on that concerns   
Voyager that he doesn't know about."  
"True, but I'm sure his wife and daughters would still appreciate it," Anne   
said. Alicia Paris, like Gretchen Janeway, had been very reticent about getting   
involved in Voyager Family Association doings from the outset. They'd been happy   
to attend the various events that had been organized over the year, but had both   
shied away from any type of leadership role.  
Anne had been worried about stepping on toes, and had made a point of contacting   
Mrs. Janeway when she first conceived of the newsletter. Gretchen's reaction had   
not been quite what she expected.  
"Good Lord, no," Gretchen had said emphatically. She quickly added, "I think   
your idea is a marvelous one, Anne, but I personally don't have any desire to be   
involved, other than in the role of interested family member."  
"But Mrs. Janeway, you're a relative of the captain--"  
"And because of that I should be the one in charge?" Gretchen shook her head.   
"I'm aware that a lot of military spouses more or less 'assume the rank' of   
their husbands or wives when it comes to interactions with the other families.   
But I think in the case of Voyager, whose circumstances are so exceptional to   
begin with, we shouldn't be so hidebound. Better for those who have the interest   
and ideas to be the ones in a position of authority."  
"But are you sure you don't mind?" Anne pressed.  
"I've lived the Starfleet life for close to sixty years, Anne. I've been married   
to a Starfleet Admiral, and have raised one of my children to be a Starfleet   
officer as well. I've had more than my share of pain and loss, I sometimes feel.   
It would probably be better to have someone else, someone more energetic take on   
the job."  
"What about your other daughter?"  
Gretchen said, "You can ask her, but I'm sure Phoebe would say the same thing,   
beg off from any leadership role." Gretchen grinned. "Besides, Phoebe doesn't   
really have the time--and between you and me, nor the people skills either--to   
undertake something like this."  
Kaylyn broke into Anne's reverie. "Oh, one more name I almost overlooked. Who is   
Dr. Lewis Zimmerman?"  
"Oh, he's the 'contact' for Voyager's Doctor--his 'father', if you will."  
"But he's just a hologram," Kaylyn said, a hint of amusement in her eyes.  
"Yes, he is, but a sentient one," Anne answered, "and as such is a full member   
of the crew. And he deserves the same rights as any other."  
***  
Once again, the select group of admirals was gathered in a small, nondescript   
room. However, their number was not the same as it had been three days earlier.   
Owen Paris was absent.  
Hayes cleared his throat, as a way of getting started. "After our last meeting,   
it's clear we have a number of issues we need to clear up." Although it was   
patently to clear to everyone what the topic was, he added, "About Voyager."  
Ross coughed slightly. "I was scanning the news reports from the last 72 hours,   
looking specifically for items related to Voyager. There's been a lot on how the   
ship is once more spaceborne, a brief mention of their layover at the Vordai   
space station, even a 'human interest' feature on some play the crew put on for   
their hosts. But there hasn't been a single mention of the slipstream drive. Or   
the fact that they're once more looking at an ETA within the year."  
"Well, that's not surprising," Cobum said, perhaps displeased that Ross had   
spoken first. "Surely you can see the wisdom, from a security standpoint, of not   
divulging what will surely be classified technical information. As the only AQ   
power with a drive far advanced beyond standard warp--"  
"Oh, please," said Necheyev, rolling her eyes. "It's fairly obvious why no   
mention has been made--the slipstream, for all intents and purposes is still   
unproved as far as being an effective means of propulsion." She bestowed a   
sardonic glance on Cobum. "Voyager already had one experience with this type of   
drive three years ago--an unsuccessful experience. Adapted alien technology is   
notoriously unreliable. There's no guarantee that this time will be any   
different." She smiled, but it was not a pleasant expression. "In all fairness,   
I should point out that the reasons behind the first slipstream failure were   
lost in the details of yet another time-travel experience."  
"Now that's unfounded speculation if I've ever heard it. Why do you assume time   
travel was involved?" demanded Cobum. "Nothing in Janeway's official report   
would lead one to believe that it was anything other than a mechanical failure.   
Which they've obviously figured out how to get around."  
Necheyev's expression left no doubt as to her estimation of Cobum's analytical   
prowess, but she didn't deign to reply.  
"You know, the Vulcans used to b-b-be adamant that time-travel was impossible,"   
Gelb said reflectively.  
"That was a very long time ago," answered Teller. "Since the early days of   
Starfleet, quite a few of our ships have had not one, but several trips through   
time. As I recall, Kirk alone had five such experiences," she gave a   
self-deprecating smile, "though none of them occurred during my tour of duty   
with him."  
Necheyev inclined her head. "Of course, as the timeline is invariably reset at   
the end, we really have no way of knowing if any of these accounts are authentic   
or not."  
"I assume you're speaking from a philosophical stand point," said Blanc somewhat   
irritably. "Otherwise, we wouldn't need a Temporal Prime Directive, or a   
department of Temporal Investigation."  
Hayes drummed his fingers impatiently. "We're getting off track here, people."   
He turned to Ross. "Yes, you're correct, Bill. The omission of any mention of   
the slipstream on the newsvids was deliberate, but it was purely for PR   
purposes--why get the public's hopes up prematurely? Not to mention the   
families'. We've had dashed hopes before, as recently as the transwarp. When we   
heard the ship had an emergency crash landing, that was a real disaster."  
"Not to mention from the perspective of the Voyager crew," Teller muttered. Next   
to her, Gelb made no sound, but his gill slits twitched, signifying his   
displeasure.  
"The families themselves must know something," objected Ross. "I'm sure some   
mention was made in at least a few of the crew's messages."  
"Not necessarily," said Necheyev, "And for the same reason--not to raise false   
hopes." She tapped the PADD in front of her, and scrolled down till she found   
what she was looking for. "Janeway's report was very clear: they were going to   
implement the slipstream for the first time shortly after their departure from   
the Vordai station. Preliminary test results were good, but there was no way of   
knowing for sure how the system would react in real-time." She folded her hands   
together primly. "It's quite possible that none of the crew spoke about the   
slipstream in their letters home."  
"You mean we don't know that for a fact if any of them included it or not?"   
asked Blanc. The others turned to him in surprise.  
"The content of personal letters--" began Cobum.  
"The Federation clause stipulating the right to privacy for personal communiqués   
does not apply to messages in the datastream," cut in Blanc. "Not since the   
security breaches last year, when the outgoing datastream was tampered with on   
more than one occasion." He didn't go into any further details, but his   
listeners knew exactly what he was referring to: the deranged Bajoran Vedek who   
had implanted a subliminal message, stirring the Maquis crewmembers to stage a   
brief mutiny, as well as a short time later when some Ferengi mercenaries   
managed to intercept the Barclay-hologram.  
Hayes exhaled impatiently. "Yes, all incoming or outgoing messages are now   
scanned before entering the datastream. But it's strictly a subfrequency   
analysis, making sure that all the transponder signals match. We don't scan the   
content of the messages themselves, let alone search for keywords."  
"But the capability does exist," Blanc insisted. "It could be done." He stared   
challengingly at the Commander in Chief, who looked away uncomfortably.  
"Yes, it could be done, given due cause," Hayes admitted finally. "But I highly   
doubt we have to worry in any case." He leaned back in his chair. "So what if a   
few family members know about the slipstream attempt? They're not going to go   
around spreading the news. Why would they? Besides, after the first flurry of   
'human interest' articles when regular contact was established, the media has   
been more or less ignoring the relatives. We don't have to worry about a leak   
from there."  
"I agree," Necheyev said decisively. "Worrying about it would be a waste of our   
time. All major news concerning Voyager comes through the Starfleet Department   
of News & Information. Commander Craig has been doing an admirable job as Press   
Liaison, dispensing the regular Voyager updates. We can decide if and when we   
want to go public with this latest development. But I personally think we should   
hold off for at least another few months. At least let's see if it the drive   
works."  
Teller shifted in her seat, obviously still perturbed at the earlier exchange.   
Her eyes glinted dangerously. "Not to mention that keeping the news under wraps   
a bit longer gives you the opportunity to decide on the official response to   
Voyager's return in the comfort and privacy of your own private cabal."  
"As you are one of the 'cabal', I don't think you really have any cause for   
complaint," Cobum said somewhat nastily. His implication was clear--that if she   
didn't like it, she could leave. "Do you really want to see this kicked around   
in the General Assembly?"  
Teller flushed angrily but before she could say anything, Hayes interrupted.  
"Exactly. So let's get on with our meeting. First of all, do we have a consensus   
of how we're going to treat the Voyager crew--do we consider them returning   
heroes?"  
No one was surprised when Cobum spoke up first. "In the eyes of the media, they   
certainly are. God knows that in this post-war climate, after the beating we   
took from the Dominion, we need heroes, need something to feel good about.   
Voyager's survival alone--"  
"Yes, after the Dominion war," said Ross, leaning forward. "What about all the   
commanders and ships and crewmen who were lost in that war, valiantly defending   
our quadrant against invasion? What about the ones who survived? Fighting   
against insurmountable odds? Are they any less heroic? In so many battles our   
forces were outnumbered--"  
"Voyager was outnumbered as well, and fighting b-b-battles in a quadrant not our   
own," reminded Gelb gently. "And no one expected them to survive."  
Ross had the grace to look embarrassed. "I don't mean to take anything away from   
Voyager's success; but neither should we hold them any higher than the crews who   
took their lumps closer to home." He coughed nervously. "That's all I'm saying."  
"There's also something about coming back from the dead," observed Necheyev   
dryly. "Two years after they were lost, we declared them officially dead.   
Remember the memorial service? Not since Wolf 359 was there such a general   
outpouring of sympathy--"  
"Too bad they didn't have the decency to stay dead or lost after that?" asked   
Teller archly.  
"I didn't say that," Necheyev said, an edge to her voice. It had been on   
Necheyev's orders that Voyager had been dispatched to the Badlands in pursuit of   
the Maquis vessel in the first place. "I don't think there was anyone happier or   
more relieved than I when we received that first communication from Voyager,   
when they sent their EMH through that alien communications array."  
Hayes permitted himself a small smile. "No one except their families, of   
course."  
Cobum jerked his head up suddenly. "One thing's for sure, it's certainly a   
unique event. Other ships have been lost under mysterious circumstances, never   
heard from again. Good people, too. The Hera under Silva La Forge, to name just   
one."  
"And the Equinox under Ransom," Blanc said casually. "Mustn't forget them--they   
vanished not too long after Voyager did. But notice where all the attention was   
focused."  
Hayes rubbed his face tiredly. "Considering how Ransom's bunch ended up, I for   
one am not complaining. But that's neither here nor there. Equinox was just a   
small survey ship on a research mission. Voyager was the latest and most   
advanced of the Intrepid class vessels--and on a mission to capture a terrorist   
cell."  
But Blanc wasn't finished yet. "It's still curious, especially when one   
considers the obvious similarities between Ransom and Janeway."  
Gelb said, "B-B-Both scientists, you mean?" His tone was carefully neutral, yet   
still managed to convey a note of warning.  
All waited with bated breath to hear if and when any details of Janeway's   
'rogue' career in the Delta Quadrant--well documented by her own ship's logs not   
to mention her senior officers'--would come up.  
However, after a long pause, Blanc turned away from Gelb's unblinking stare and   
said, "Of course, what did you think I meant?"  
Gelb's gill slits twitched, but otherwise his expression remained unchanged.   
"Nothing. Other than the fact that Ransom was a noted exobiologist, b-b-but   
didn't have the command experience that Janeway did."  
"Nor was he the special protégé of some of the Admirals sitting here today,"   
observed Necheyev, with a look at the Nereid.  
"I was referring to her military record," Gelb said quietly. He had been one of   
Janeway's instructors in Command School. "There was a very g-g-good reason why   
Janeway was g-g-given command of Voyager, our latest technological marvel of a   
ship. Not to mention sent on such an important mission."  
Necheyev leaned forward. "Her chief of security was on that Maquis ship, if you   
recall. If I hadn't assigned Janeway to that mission, she would have been   
angling for it anyway. As it is she argued for pushing up the launch date by a   
month."  
"After it was clear that the Maquis ship had already disappeared," countered   
Gelb.  
"All right," Hayes began, but Cobum interrupted.  
"The facts are as follows: Voyager was sent out, we lost contact with them, a   
great deal of play was given to their disappearance and then four years later,   
after they were long since forgotten, we heard from them again. Just the fact of   
their survival was enough for a nine day wonder and then some. Even if regular   
communication hadn't been established in the last two years, anything related to   
Voyager would still be a major focus of the media attention."  
"So you're saying we should allow the media to dictate our policy, how we treat   
our ships and crew?" Blanc charged.  
"No, you stubborn old coot, that's not what I'm saying at all," Cobum said,   
struggling to control his temper.  
"It's not like the Voyager crew is a homogenous whole, you know," Ross   
interjected. "You're got career Starfleet officers, but also former ter--, I   
mean, civilians."  
Teller eyed him with distaste. "Some of the Maquis were former Starfleet   
officers."  
"And some were not Starfleet," Ross said, "or even Academy dropouts."  
"And there are a few civilians on b-b-board that ship who aren't even from the   
Alpha Quadrant!" said Gelb. "What does this have to do with anything?"  
Ross said stiffly, "Just that there are differences among the crew of that ship,   
so perhaps there should be differences in how we handle their cases when they   
return. Maquis, DQ natives, Starfleet---"  
"The Starfleet contingent isn't one unified whole, either," noted Blanc. "You've   
got former Equinox officers on board Voyager as well."  
"Everybody's favorite whipping boys," Teller said, shaking her head. "Really,   
those five have more than paid for their--"  
"Perhaps this is a side issue," said Cobum, raising his voice to be heard, "but   
there's something else we'll have to consider as Voyager's return is imminent.   
You've got a bunch of officers on that ship that haven't been promoted in over   
seven years. We'll have to fast-track them all to bring them in line with their   
peers in the Alpha Quadrant."  
"You could scarcely expect Janeway to stick to a regular promotions schedule,"   
said Gelb chided, though he clearly welcomed the change of topic. "If it had   
truly taken them 70 years to get b-b-back, it'd b-b-be with a shipload of   
captains."  
"Forget about promotions for a moment," put in Necheyev, "but that does beg the   
question of those field commissions Janeway granted."  
Ross nodded emphatically. "That's right. There's been a tacit acceptance of the   
Maquis field commissions all these years, but what happens now? Do we allow   
those to stand? Before we can even discuss that, we have to decide what we're   
going to do about the Maquis themselves." His tone left no doubt what his   
opinion was.  
Teller sighed. "For all that they started out as criminals, they have since more   
than made up for it by their service aboard Voyager. There's a strong case for   
saying they've been 'redeemed' in light of their heroism." She looked at Ross   
challengingly. "How many of the Voyager Maquis have died in the line of duty?"  
Ross didn't look away. "So they agreed to throw in their lot with Janeway, and   
became members of her crew. What else would you expect? It's not like they   
really had a choice, if they ever wanted to get back home."  
"I suppose it's fair to ask if we really want them as part of the 'Fleet   
afterwards," said Cobum, clearly unable to stay out of the conversation for   
long.  
Necheyev pursed her lips. "I'll leave that for others to decide, but I would   
like to point out one thing. The Federation signed a treaty with Cardassia in   
2370. After years of tensions, peace was finally at hand. Perhaps there were   
areas where the treaty wasn't perfect--" she smiled, knowing they knew full well   
who was the architect of this treaty--"But we had a signed agreement. Now   
consider that maybe, just maybe, the Cardassians wouldn't have been so quick to   
disregard that treaty, to ally themselves with the Dominion, if the Maquis   
hadn't sprung up to be a thorn in their side."  
"That's a load of targ manure," said Teller heatedly. "The blame for that fiasco   
lies squarely on Gul Dukat, and his desire for power." Ross opened his mouth,   
but Teller swung on him angrily. "I know *you* don't agree with me, Bill, but   
you don't exactly have any lost love for the Maquis, do you? You'd like to blame   
the entire Dominion War on them, if you thought you could make it stick."  
"Michael Eddington," said Ross, struggling to control his temper. "Cal Hudson. I   
could go on and on--do you know just how much damage the Maquis inflicted--and   
on Starfleet itself, not just Cardassia? To what extent they set back   
Cardassian-Federation relations?"  
Hayes reached out and held Ross' arm. "Hold on, both of you. You're both right.   
Yes, Dukat was out for power and later turned out to be a full scale psycho, but   
you can't lay the blame entirely at his door." He turned to Teller. "The Maquis   
were also a major part of the problem, just as Alynna said--they threatened the   
existence of the treaty." He sat back tiredly. "Otherwise why would we have sent   
Voyager out to arrest that cell in the first place?"  
Ross was far from mollified. "Yes, Voyager was sent out to arrest the members of   
a cell headed by a Starfleet renegade--Chakotay. Even if he did bother resigning   
his commission first, he still betrayed Starfleet when he joined the Maquis."  
"There is a difference b-b-between Chakotay, and Michael Eddington or Cal   
Hudson," said Gelb.  
"Just a difference of degree," Necheyev retorted. "When you come down to it,   
they all still turned around and stabbed the Federation in the back, undermining   
our position."  
Teller said tiredly, "They felt that we abandoned them first...but that's all   
water under the bridge by now." She addressed her remarks to Hayes. "The few   
Maquis who survived the war have since been released from prison. The Maquis   
crewmembers aboard Voyager have served valiantly--without them it's doubtful   
Voyager would have ever survived, let alone been able to adapt such varied alien   
technologies as to allow us to speak of their imminent arrival. That should   
count for *something*."  
There was an uncomfortable silence as all eyes fell on place usually occupied by   
Owen Paris. His daughter-in-law--the brilliant engineer who had kept Voyager   
intact and who was also the key to understanding all those new technologies--   
was a Maquis. For that matter, Paris' son also had a stint in the Maquis to his   
discredit. Though the younger Paris' situation was slightly different, as he had   
been offered a deal to cooperate with Starfleet in return for a possible   
mitigation of his prison sentence. And he had unquestionably kept his side of   
the bargain.  
Blanc sourly pointed out, "Janeway has already made it damn clear she is going   
to fight for her Maquis officers."  
"Which just brings up problems with Janeway herself," Hayes said grimly.  
Act 2  
Paris sat in his private office at the Pathfinder office. A complicated star   
chart, tracing a trajectory that carefully skirted the black holes and other   
celestial phenomena at the center of the galaxy, was visible on the computer   
monitor. Commander Harkins had been in earlier, with Lieutenant Barclays' latest   
projections regarding Voyager's most likely course. But Paris wasn't looking at   
the screen. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the small holophoto in the corner of   
his desktop.  
The photo showed Tom as a very young man, in uniform, during his first Starfleet   
posting. He was smiling, the ghosts of Caldik Prime not yet looking out from his   
eyes. Nearby were other pictures of the Paris children--Tom along with his older   
sisters Kathleen and Moira--in various stages of growing up. There were also   
pictures of Kathleen's and Moira's children and spouses. But the most recent   
photo of Tom was from that first tour of duty; there was nothing to commemorate   
any of the milestones of his life past that date.  
Owen shifted uneasily in his seat. It had been just under a week since he had   
conveyed the latest results from the datastream to Hayes' inner council. He   
sighed in frustration. Here he sat at the heart of the Pathfinder   
project--Voyager's lifeline to the AQ--and he couldn't shake the feeling that he   
was being kept in the dark, not knowing exactly what was going on with the ship   
and her crew. He strongly suspected that there had been additional meetings that   
Hayes didn't notify him about. He briefly debated whether or not to make a stink   
about it, or at least call Hayes and ask for information. His hand hovered over   
the comm link for a second or two, then dropped to the surface of the desk. He   
knew quite well why he wasn't being included any longer.  
In the utter silence, the uncertainty of it all weighed on him. In a way, he   
felt like he was back in those terrible days when Voyager was first lost. He   
remembered sitting through a meeting at Headquarters, retracing the ship's   
projected route in the Badlands, playing and replaying the last message received   
from the ship, then sifting through reports from Starfleet vessels combing the   
area. They had found no debris or other evidence that Voyager had been   
destroyed. All part of determining whether the Cardassians could be trusted, if   
their claims of having nothing to do with either ship's disappearance could be   
verified. Everyone in the room that day was well aware that Tom Paris had been   
aboard Voyager as an observer, in exchange for early parole from the prison   
facility in Auckland. At the end of the session, one of the other admirals had   
turned to him and simply said, "I'm sorry about your son, Owen."  
Paris winced as he remembered his harsh reply, "Don't be. I lost him a long time   
before he ever set foot on Voyager."  
He had long since repented of those words, even he before heard Tom was still   
alive. As he had at least a hundred times before, he hoped he could have a   
second chance, but he was all too aware of what a fragile thing hope is. Voyager   
was still so very far away; their situation was still so very dangerous. And in   
today's rapidly shifting political climate, who knew what they would be   
returning to?  
His chrono beeped. 1800. Suddenly, he switched off his monitor, swept the PADDS   
from the desk into a drawer and strode toward the door. His aide, Lieutenant   
Chung, looked up, clearly startled by the admiral's unexpected appearance at   
such a early hour.  
"I'm going to knock off early today, Chung."  
"Yes, sir."  
"If anyone tries to get in touch with me," Paris said, then paused.  
"You'll be at home, sir?"  
"Yes. I'll be at home."  
Paris walked through the corridors toward the exit, mechanically responding to   
greetings he scarcely heard. He was thinking of Voyager's near-disastrous   
attempt with the transwarp. For the past week he'd carried around the knowledge   
of Voyager's new drive, keeping it strictly to himself. He hadn't revealed the   
slipstream to Alicia, because he didn't want her to be hurt again, have her   
hopes raised yet again for no purpose. But perhaps now it was time to confide in   
his wife.  
***  
Alicia Paris saw the flitter through the window, and wondered why her husband   
was home so early. She had just finished wiping her hands on a towel when he   
came in.  
"Hello, dear," he said and gave her a perfunctory kiss. She cast a series of   
quick looks at him, trying to determine if something was wrong. It was hard to   
tell; Owen was not the type of man who typically wore his emotions on his   
sleeve. To a casual observer, his face was set in its usual placid lines.   
However, she could tell by the faint tightness around his mouth that he was   
upset. No, she corrected herself, not quite upset. But he was definitely on   
edge.  
With forced lightness, she said, "This is a pleasant surprise-- I wasn't   
expecting you at this hour."  
He mumbled something non-committal, as he made his way over to the comm link in   
the foyer. "Any messages?"  
"Nothing important. Moira called. They just came back from a week up at Lake   
Tahoe."  
"Did her boys have a good time?"  
"Yes." She paused. "Would you like some dinner?"  
"Did you eat yet?"  
"Yes, but--"  
"It's all right, I'm not hungry."  
"Don't be silly, Owen. You have to eat something." She went over to the   
replicator and tapped in a quick set of commands. She carefully picked up the   
steaming bowl that materialized and placed it on the table. "There you go--plain   
hot tomato soup. Your favorite."  
Owen sat down at the table and picked up the spoon. He began to eat slowly,   
almost disinterestedly. Alicia watched him with a growing sense of unease.   
Finally, he laid the spoon down and turned to her.  
"There's something I haven't told you."  
"About Voyager?"  
If he was surprised that she jumped to that conclusion, he gave no sign. "Yes,   
about Voyager. As you know, they've left that planet--"  
"Tom wrote about that in his letter. They were spending a few weeks at an alien   
space dock to complete repairs, and then they'd be resuming their course for   
home." Suddenly she stopped, assailed by a terrible fear. "Did something happen   
to the ship? Or to Tom or B'Elanna or the baby?"  
"No, no, nothing like that," he said reassuringly. "As far as I know, everyone   
is all right. And as far as the ship itself is concerned, Kathryn made a comment   
that it hasn't been in such good condition in *years*."  
"Then what's the problem?" she asked, still concerned.  
"They've got a new experimental drive. A faster one..."  
"B'Elanna was able to fix the transwarp coil?"  
He shook his head. "It's a total loss, from what I've heard. And anyway, there   
were problems with it that they weren't quite able to overcome--witness the   
crash in the first place. No, this is an entirely different drive. Slipstream."  
"How did they come up with something so quickly?" Alicia asked, puzzled. She got   
herself a cup of coffee from the replicator and joined him at the table.  
"Apparently, one of the other engineers, Carey, had been working on it, off and   
on, over a long period of time, but when they opted to develop the transwarp, he   
shelved his ideas. But over the last six months he began working on it again."  
"Carey? You mean Anne's husband." Over the last two years Alicia had been in   
occasional contact with the woman, and had applauded her efforts to try and   
forge connections between the various Voyager families. Privately, Alicia had   
been grateful. It would have been only natural for Alicia herself to take on   
that role, but she hadn't wanted to for several reasons. Aside from her natural   
reticence and dislike for public speaking, she didn't feel entirely comfortable   
as it was her husband who was the admiral in charge of the Pathfinder project.   
Far better for someone else to be in the spotlight, as the official face of the   
Voyager Family Association.  
"Yes, Joe Carey. Apparently B'Elanna is not the only talented engineer on board,   
though Kathryn still considers her indispensable." He smiled briefly. "But   
Voyager's got slipstream now, and apparently they've been able to work out the   
problems with it. If all goes well, they'll be home within the year."  
"But that's wonderful news! I can't believe Tom didn't mention it." She stopped   
short, suddenly realizing that news of the slipstream hadn't appeared anywhere.   
And Owen himself had not mentioned it till now. "What's wrong?"  
He sighed and ran his hand through his thinning hair. "Not everyone thinks it's   
such good news."  
She caught the undercurrent at once. "Not everyone at Starfleet, that is."  
"Exactly."  
Alicia didn't interrupt as Owen recounted the meeting he had been at a few days   
earlier, when the datastream had first arrived, as well as the different   
attitudes held by the various admirals. She didn't react until his last   
sentence.  
"But I will no longer be sitting in on the meetings."  
Alicia asked, "Why not? That doesn't make any sense."  
He pushed his chair back, but did not stand. "My hands are tied, Alicia, due to   
the inherent conflict of interest." He exhaled sharply. "My son and   
daughter-in-law are members of Voyager's crew, as well as my soon-to-be adopted   
son," he said, referring to Icheb, the young Brunali recovered from the Borg.   
"And of course it's well known that Kathryn Janeway was my protégée. Any   
argument I make regarding the treatment of the ship and crew won't be given as   
much weight because of all these factors."  
Alicia sighed. She knew better than anyone that Owen had never given or asked   
that others give Tom preferential treatment; in fact, to avoid even the   
appearance of any impropriety, he had made things that much harder on him all   
the years he was growing up, continuing through Tom's early years in Starfleet.   
And Owen had completely turned his back on his son when the truth finally came   
out about what happened at Caldik Prime.  
Alicia rose and carried their dishes to the recycler, then picked up a sponge   
and began wiping down the counter. How long would Tom have to pay for bearing   
the Paris name? She glanced back at her husband, saw him sitting with his head   
in his hands.  
To any outside observer, the Paris marriage had always been rock solid. No one   
guessed at the major strains it had undergone around the time of Tom's summary   
departure from Starfleet, compounded by his subsequent involvement in the   
Maquis, and made rapidly worse by his capture and sentencing to the penal colony   
in Auckland. She had come close to leaving Owen then, but in the end she had   
stayed. She hadn't been sure why at the time. Only later, after Voyager was   
lost, had she become aware of just how much Owen himself had suffered. And not,   
as she'd angrily accused him, because of the way the Paris name had been dragged   
through the mud. No, Owen genuinely loved his son, even if he did have   
difficulty expressing it. For too long she had been blinded by her own anger,   
her own hurt for her son, to realize it.  
Absence makes the heart grow fonder, her grandmother used to say. Incredibly   
enough, that seemed to have been the case for Owen and Tom. Maybe they had to   
undergo the physical distance, the fear of losing one another for ever, in order   
to begin taking the first few steps toward each other again. And now that   
Voyager's return seemed imminent, it wasn't fair to think the chance could be   
snatched away from them once more.  
Her heart was full of questions she could not ask. Would Owen still be able to   
find a way to fight for Voyager? Would Tom understand his father wasn't   
abandoning him? There were other people involved here as well, an entire ship   
load of people, with families who cared about them and had already given them up   
for dead once. What about them?  
Instead, she said, "If they're so worried about a conflict of interest, then   
most of the Admiralty should disqualify themselves from making any decisions   
regarding Voyager." She waited till Owen looked up. "Most of them are on a first   
name basis with Kathryn Janeway, either taught her or had her serve under them   
at some point in her career. Are they willing to recuse themselves?" She smiled   
bitterly. "No, I didn't think so."  
Owen came up behind her, and slipped his arms around her waist. "Alicia." Slowly   
she turned. "Alicia, I agree with you. But that's the way it is." He lifted her   
chin till she was looking straight into his piercing blue eyes. "But just   
because *my* hands are tied doesn't mean there isn't another way."  
***  
The comm chimed.  
Anne glared at the deceptively innocent-looking piece of equipment. It seemed   
like her entire morning had consisted of one interruption after another. Every   
time she sat down to do something constructive--like prepare her lecture notes   
for her week's classes--another distraction arose. First there'd been the hustle   
of getting the boys off to school, amid a frantic search for missing homework   
PADDS and mislaid sports equipment. Then her mother-in-law had called, followed   
by her mother, sister and cousin in short order. Then the recycler had backed up   
for the third time in two days, and the quick 'fix' Joe had written her about 3   
months ago no longer appeared to be effective, necessitating a call to the   
repairman.  
And now the bloody comm unit was chiming again. She considered ignoring it, but   
figured she might as well acknowledge that her morning was already shot.  
"Yes, what do you want?" she said curtly, as the image of a dark-haired man   
appeared.  
"And hello to you, too," said Mitch Dalby in amusement.  
"Mitch!" Anne said, somewhat abashed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound   
so--I've just been having one of those days."  
"If now is a bad time, I can always call back later," he offered.  
"No, no, it's all right." She took a deep breath. "Actually, I'm glad you   
called--I was wondering how things were going at your end, in terms of research   
for the newsletter. Kaylyn said the other day that she'd almost finished putting   
together the photos for our inaugural issue."  
"That's what I'm calling about, actually," Mitch said, his grin vanishing. "I've   
run into some problems."  
"Problems?" Anne echoed, and sat back in dismay. She'd asked Mitch to contact   
the Starfleet Department of News & Information for basic information on Voyager,   
current ship's position and distance from the Alpha Quadrant, latest updates and   
so on--above and beyond what had already appeared on the newsvids. "What   
happened?"  
"As soon as I started making inquiries, I was told that the information I had   
requested was classified and required a high level security clearance for   
access." He smiled sardonically. "Which of course, as a former convicted   
terrorist and felon, I can't even dream of attaining."  
She didn't miss the bitter note in his voice nor the downward twist to his   
mouth. The Maquis had been very nearly wiped out at the hands of the Jem'Hadar   
during the war; the only survivors had been those, like Mitch, who had been in   
prison. True, they had been released at the war's end, but no one had ever   
acknowledged that their fears about the Cardassian treaty had borne fruit, nor   
had any official apology or offer of restitution been made for their losses.   
Anne didn't honestly know how she felt about their situation; she could   
understand the issue from Starfleet's perspective though she tended toward   
natural sympathy for the Maquis. In general, she felt it best not to bring it up   
in conversation.  
So instead she said, "Have you tried speaking to Commander Craig? He's the PR   
liaison over at the Pathfinder project. Maybe he can be of help."  
"I'm way ahead of you," Mitch replied. "I already spoke to Craig, numerous times   
over the past two weeks."  
"And was he helpful?"  
Mitch shook his head. "No, he wasn't."  
"He wasn't?" Anne was surprised. "You mean he couldn't give you any additional   
information?"  
"Either couldn't or wouldn't. He said, and I quote, 'all pertinent information   
for public consumption has already been made available via the newsvids. We have   
nothing further to add at this time.'"  
"But that's ridiculous!" Anne said. "There's a lot of news that never even makes   
it to the airwaves! I can mention at least 3 or 4 items I know through Joe's   
letters that I would not have known about if I were part of the general public."  
"Maybe they figure the general public isn't interested in the details." Mitch   
shrugged. "I'm an exception, Anne."  
"What are you talking about? You're a Voyager family member!"  
"Not any longer."  
Anne hesitated, aware she was embarking on yet another sensitive issue. "I   
thought you were corresponding with Mariah Henley."  
"Just once. After Ken--after he was lost. She wrote to tell me personally,   
didn't want me just hearing it from some stranger in a Starfleet uniform." He   
was quiet for a moment, then looked her straight in the eye. "But that was it.   
Mariah and I have no other connection--we'd both moved on a long time ago." He   
cleared his throat. "Regardless, I'm very grateful to you and to the 'network'   
for keeping me informed, telling me things I wouldn't know otherwise. My brother   
may be gone, but I still feel a basic connection to many of the people on   
Voyager. I'm still concerned about their welfare."  
"As well you should be," Anne responded. "Well, perhaps it wasn't a very good   
idea in the first place to approach Starfleet, if it seems that we as family   
members know more than they're willing to say on the record. Why, I haven't even   
seen an official announcement about the slipstream drive..." She brought herself   
up short.  
"You've got a point there," Mitch said. "You'd think they would be trumpeting   
that news from the rooftops. But they haven't mentioned it at all. I wonder   
why." He frowned.  
"It's probably not important." She shook herself. "All right, how about we   
switch jobs--you can finish going through the family lists and gathering   
background notes, and I'll give a call to Commander Craig."  
"Suits me just fine. But why go back to Craig--why not just go directly to   
Admiral Paris? He's the head of Pathfinder, after all."  
"I suppose I could, although I really wouldn't want to bother him..." Anne said   
hesitantly.  
"Didn't you speak with him before?" Mitch asked curiously. "I thought you'd said   
Paris had contacted you once or twice previously."  
"It was his wife, Alicia, I spoke to," she explained. "Not the Admiral."  
"Well, all I can say is, no matter which of the brass you talk to, you'll   
probably have better luck than I would in finding anything out," Mitch said.  
"I'm willing to do your job for you, Mr. Dalby, but I'm not letting you off the   
hook," Anne said with mock sternness, hoping to distract him.  
"Talking to the families?" He laughed. "That's easy."  
"Let's hope you still say that after talking to Mrs. Kim," Anne said ruefully.   
"A lovely woman, don't get me wrong. She means very well, but oh, she can go on   
and on...to sit and listen to her for very long would try the patience of a   
saint."  
Mitch rolled his eyes. "That's more your job description than mine, Anne--I'm   
one of the sinners, remember?"  
"Not in my book," she said firmly.  
After an awkward pause, he said, "Well, I've intruded on your day too much   
already. I'll check in with you toward the end of the week and let you know what   
I've come up with."  
"Good. It was nice talking to you, Mitch."  
"Bye."  
Anne closed the connection and turned back to her desk. Finally, she would be   
able to get some work done! And to her gratification, she was able to do just   
that for the next twenty minutes.  
A quick glance at the chrono warned her that she would have to get going if she   
wanted a chance to stop at the University library before her first class was   
scheduled to begin. She had just taken a few steps toward the stairs when the   
doorbell rang. She turned to open it and stopped in surprise.  
Admiral Paris stood on the doorstep.  
"I'm sorry for just dropping in on you unannounced, Mrs. Carey," he said with a   
slight smile. "But I was wondering if I might speak with you for a few minutes?"  
Anne somehow managed to say, "Of course, Admiral. Please, come right in." She   
ushered him into the living room, noting to her dismay that her PADDS lay   
scattered all over the coffee table and a few of the chairs, and a pile of   
jackets and boots were in an untidy heap in the corner. "Please, forgive the   
mess," she murmured. "The house usually isn't so, uh--"  
Again, he gave her that slight smile. "I remember what it's like having young   
children. Don't worry about it, Mrs. Carey. I didn't exactly give you any   
advance warning." He seated himself on the couch and looked at her expectantly.  
Anne was still getting over her shock that the Admiral had come all the way to   
Ireland to meet with her. She had only met him in person once before, shortly   
after the beginning of the Pathfinder project, and she still didn't feel   
entirely comfortable around him. She certainly never expected him to be sitting   
in her living room as if it were the most natural thing in the world.  
A sudden thought made her heart leap into her throat. "There's something wrong,   
isn't there? That's why you're here. You've gotten word about Joe, that he's--"   
She couldn't bring herself to finish.  
Paris half rose from his seat, his hands outstretched in a calming gesture. "No,   
no, nothing like that. I'm not here to deliver any bad news." He smiled   
reassuringly. "But as I said, I would like to speak with you."  
Anne nodded numbly. Of course, she reminded herself, it was still another few   
weeks to go until the next datastream. There was no way the Admiral would have   
somehow heard anything about Voyager. She forced herself to smile. "May I offer   
you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?"  
"Coffee would be fine, thank you. Black."  
A few minutes later, Anne handed him a steaming mug of coffee and sat down   
opposite him. She cradled a cup of tea; its warmth was soothing, and holding the   
cup gave her something to do with her hands. In her absence, the Admiral had   
been examining the holophotos on the mantle. "You have a lovely family, Mrs.   
Carey."  
"Thank you." She took a sip of her tea. For all that he had traveled so far to   
see her, he didn't seem to be in too much of a hurry to get to the point.  
"My wife told me about the newsletter you're planning," he said at last. "I   
think it's a very good idea. And it will make an excellent start."  
Anne said, puzzled, "What do you mean by 'a start?'"  
Paris looked down into the depths of his mug for a moment. "As important as it   
is to share information among the families, it's also important that there be a   
voice heard speaking publicly on behalf of Voyager."  
"Isn't that Starfleet's job?"  
"Yes, of course, but they represent Voyager the vessel, the Starfleet   
institution. It's not a bad idea to remind the public of the individuals who   
make up that entity *we* refer to as Voyager." His eyes met hers. "Ordinary   
people who live and breathe, laugh and cry, and hope and dream, just like   
everyone else."  
"It sounds like you expect more from the Voyager Families Association than just   
a newsletter," Anne said carefully.  
Paris put his mug down, leaned forward, and clasped his hands together. "I do,   
because I think under the right leadership, your organization could fill a very   
valuable role. Think of it as playing Voyager's advocate in the eyes of the   
public."  
Anne got up and walked toward the window. The top of the cathedral's bell tower   
was just visible. As always, she found the sight comforting. "Up till now we   
haven't organized anything more complicated than a picnic."  
"I have every confidence in your abilities."  
She reached up and smoothed her hand over her hair, the way she always did when   
she was thinking. "Why are you turning to me?"  
"I think it would be best if this came from one of the family members."  
She shook her head impatiently. "I understand that. No, what I'm asking is, why   
me? My husband is an assistant engineer aboard Voyager. Why not ask a relative   
of one of the senior officers?"  
The Admiral's gaze didn't waver. "Rank has nothing to do with it. We need   
someone with good interpersonal skills, who knows how to get her point across.   
Someone who has the ability to forge the necessary networks, and is willing to   
devote the time and energy to it." He smiled. "And you've already demonstrated a   
lot of those characteristics."  
She slowly nodded.  
He rose to his feet. "In order to be as effective as possible, to rally as much   
support as you can to your cause, one of the first things you should do is to   
make yourselves and your efforts noticeable. Be sure to send a copy of your   
newsletter to every major media outlet. Not just the first issue, but every   
subsequent one as well. Notify them the next time you have an event or get   
together. Try and arrange a meeting, even a photo-op, with some of the higher   
profile politicians." He smiled briefly. "I don't imagine that will be too   
difficult--they'll be eager to bask in some of Voyager's reflected glory as   
well." He walked to the door, then paused. Without turning around, he said,   
"It's important to let in the light as much as possible, in order to discourage   
the sort of thing that best flourishes in the dark."  
Anne stood there for a long time after he left, staring at the closed door.   
Myriad thoughts went through her mind, adding up to a pattern she first shied   
away from, but then gradually accepted. She moved over to the comm unit, sat   
down, and punched in the combination with a steady hand.  
"Hello, Kaylyn," she said to the woman who answered.  
"Anne? What's going on?" Kaylyn said instantly.  
"There have been some new developments."  
Kaylyn looked concerned. "And?"  
"Meet me in San Francisco tomorrow afternoon."  
Act 3  
"Before we get started today," Hayes said, looking around the room, "I want to   
make one thing perfectly clear. The last time we met, the discussion got rather   
heated and tempers were lost or nearly so. It was a less than productive   
session, to put it mildly. I don't want a repeat of that now. Especially as   
we're going to be touching upon some very sensitive issues."  
"More sensitive than the issue of the Maquis?" said Teller rhetorically.  
Hayes took her statement at face value. "Yes. Discussing possible improprieties   
by a Starfleet captain in the course of duty is probably the most sensitive   
issue we're going to have to deal with." He looked around once more. "All right,   
let's get started."  
"The logical place to begin," said Necheyev quickly, before Cobum could start,   
"is with Janeway's first major decision in the Delta Quadrant--choosing to   
destroy the Caretaker's Array. That was a clear violation of the Prime   
Directive."  
"Oh, do you really think so?" asked Cobum. "I can point you to other instances   
where I think Janeway came a great deal closer to violating General Order 001.   
As for the destruction of the Array--that's more of an issue of 'reckless   
endangerment': deliberately stranding her ship in the Delta Quadrant."  
Necheyev turned to her ever present PADD. "These are direct quotes from   
Janeway's own logs; her tactical officer, Commander Tuvok, argued against the   
destruction, specifically bringing up the Prime Directive. Janeway recorded   
their conversation verbatim:  
"Tuvok: any action you take to save the Ocampa will affect the balance of power   
in this sector, which would be in violation of the Prime Directive.  
"Janeway: 'Would it? We didn't ask to be involved, but we already are. I won't   
bargain away the lives of the Ocampa for a way to get Voyager home.'"  
Having finished her recital, Necheyev leaned back confidently in her seat. As if   
by chance, her gaze rested on Teller's face.  
The older woman smiled briefly. "Surely you can't fault Janeway for this   
humanitarian decision to save an entire people from death." She looked around   
the conference table and saw only the cold hard glitter of logic in their eyes.   
"Or perhaps my estimation of your empathy is overstated."  
"It seems obvious to me that Janeway destroyed the Array so the Kazon wouldn't   
get their hands on the advanced technology," said Ross, shifting slightly in his   
chair. Teller started, then smiled, seeing where he was going with this   
argument. He continued, "It's safe to say that if Voyager hadn't been involved   
in the first place, the Caretaker would have destroyed his Array himself,   
thereby preventing the Kazon from accessing it. Janeway's actions therefore   
served to maintain the balance of power in the sector, not alter it."  
"This is one of those decisions you have to trust the captain in the field to   
make, using his or her b-b-best judgment," added Gelb. "Not the admirals sitting   
b-b-back home comfortably, and hearing about it after the fact."  
"But this brings up other questionable decisions that Janeway has made," said   
Blanc stiffly. "Decisions in which there is no question that she violated   
Starfleet directives."  
"Before we get into that, perhaps we should look at the positive outcomes that   
resulted from many of Janeway's decisions," countered Teller.  
"Have you been appointed the captain's chief cheerleader, Admiral?" asked   
Necheyev in a voice dripping with sarcasm.  
"Let's just say I'm making sure both sides are presented fairly," Teller shot   
back. "Isn't that what these meetings are about? Discussing the facts? Fact:   
Janeway managed to eliminate the Borg as a viable threat." Raising her voice   
slightly, she went on, "It's amazing that one ship was able to go up against the   
power of the Collective time and again and not only survive, but manage to   
strike a death blow."  
"Yes, the Borg!" spat Blanc. "It's about time we mentioned those cybernetic   
monsters, and got to the bottom of just what were Janeway's dealings with them."  
"Those dealings have rendered the Borg relatively toothless, as far as we're   
concerned," said Cobum. "In the aftermath of their civil war, it appears the   
Collective has enough to worry about putting its own house in order."  
"Which doesn't preclude the possibility that one day the Collective will have   
regrouped enough to embark on yet another campaign of conquest and assimilation   
across the galaxy," pointed out Necheyev. "The threat hasn't truly been   
eliminated, just delayed."  
"Read the reports, Alynna," Gelb said with a sigh. "The current   
projections--which are the most conservative, incidentally--state that it will   
take at least 50 years until the Collective will have recovered enough to   
g-g-gain a foothold in more than 10% of the Delta Quadrant. We won't have to   
worry about them showing up on our doorstep anytime soon."  
"But what went down before this 'war to end all wars', to end the Collective as   
we know it?" said Blanc with heavy sarcasm. His scar showed whitely against his   
crimson face, as he jabbed a finger in the air for emphasis. "What about   
Janeway's first encounter with them, back on Stardate 50984.3? She found them   
waging a war for survival against a superior foe, saw evidence that the Borg   
were heading for an overwhelming and devastating defeat. And what did she do?"   
He glared at the people sitting near him. "She formed an alliance with them!   
Actually formed an alliance with the Borg!"  
"In that situation, what would you have had her do?" asked Teller curiously.  
"If she had to pick sides--and this is a pretty big if--she should have aided   
species 8472 against the Borg!" Blanc snapped.  
"'The enemy of my enemy.." murmured Gelb, his gill slits twitching. "B-b-but   
what of the fact that species 8472 themselves posed a major threat against   
Voyager?"  
Blanc gave him an incredulous stare. "Not as much of one as the Borg!"  
"Tell that to Voyager's Ensign Kim," mumbled Ross, though not as quietly as he   
obviously thought. Blanc cast a nasty look in his direction.  
"Species 8472 was an unknown quantity," objected Necheyev. "At the very least,   
Voyager should have stayed out of the fight altogether instead of picking sides.   
A very likely outcome is that the war would have severely weakened both sides."  
"Or else the victor could have emerged stronger than either," reminded Ross.   
"But that's all a moot point. We know what Janeway *did* do, and she was   
obviously correct, as later events proved."  
Blanc said, "You can gloss over Janeway's decision, try to present it in the   
best possible terms, but one fact still remains. What about the Starfleet   
directive to strike a blow against the Borg whenever possible? It's been on the   
books since the battle of Wolf 359." His lip trembled slightly at the last   
phrase. "Is that directive to be so easily disregarded?"  
"I agree," Necheyev said quietly. "Without going into great detail, I will   
merely point out that I once had occasion to reprimand another captain who   
disregarded this directive, who had had the opportunity to implant a fatal   
algorithmic function into a lone Borg who had fallen into his hands, and by   
returning him to the Collective, would have assured its spread throughout their   
entire hive." She pursed her lips in distaste. "Perhaps the Borg would have   
developed a countermeasure and simply cut off the diseased parts, so to speak,   
but the chances are it would have also struck them a staggering blow. The point   
is, now we'll never know. That very same captain I spoke of came to regret his   
actions later on, incidentally. He too became convinced of the necessity to   
destroy the Borg before they would have the chance to destroy us." She paused.   
"As they so nearly did just a few short years ago. Fortunately, due to that   
selfsame Captain Picard, we were spared another fiasco."  
Hayes flushed deep red; he had been the Commander of the Starfleet forces on the   
occasion that Necheyev spoke of.  
  
"Ah, then there is precedent regarding dealings with the B-b-borg, where success   
is its own antidote," Gelb said, cocking his head in Blanc's direction.  
"Without Janeway's meddling in the first place, she wouldn't have been in the   
position of having to get further involved in the affairs of the Collective!"   
Blanc charged. "How many millions of more victims did she create?"  
"She also managed to save many of the Borg's victims, those who had already been   
assimilated," answered Teller flatly. "Instead of just trying to kill drones,   
Janeway was committed to saving them, giving them back their lives."  
"I don't give a rat's ass about saving drones!" thundered Blanc, losing control   
at last. "The only good drone is a dead drone!"  
Hayes laid a hand on Blanc's arm. "Norman, think of your son. What if he had   
been recovered after the battle of Wolf? What if we had been able to reverse the   
assimilation process?"  
Blanc's face was a picture of fury, his scar twitching as though it were alive.   
"My son is dead. He was killed fighting against those monsters. As were 11,000   
other Starfleet officers, and forty ships of the line. Attempting to 'rescue'   
drones--at best it's pointless, at the worst it's an invitation to more   
slaughter and destruction!"  
"You can say that, even after Voyager's experience with former Borg?" said Ross   
incredulously.  
"You think it was a good thing to have 'recovered' drones running around   
Voyager?" demanded Blanc. He lifted his PADD and slammed it down on the table.   
"Are you going to say there was never a time when any of them presented a danger   
to the ship? Never tried to contact the Collective, never tried to assimilate   
any of the crew?"  
"You're talking about a limited number of instances, all of them dealing with   
the Borg known as Annika Hansen. And she's no longer on Voyager--left them to go   
and rejoin a Borg colony, I believe," Cobum said.  
But Blanc was not listening. "Not only does Janeway bring drones on board her   
ship, but she goes and gets herself and two of her top officers assimilated!   
Deliberately!" He looked at them wildly, as though he could not comprehend their   
sheer folly in not understanding the magnitude of this crime. "Didn't we lose   
enough good people to assimilation already?" His voice broke on what could have   
been a sob. Blanc buried his head in his arms.  
There was an awkward silence.  
"Maybe we should take a break, resume another time," Hayes said worriedly.  
Blanc lifted his head and fastened his bloodshot eyes on the Commander in Chief.   
"No," he said in a tight voice. "Let's finish it."  
Ross exchanged glances with Gelb. "For all its 'tainted' origin, some of the   
Borg technology has proven to be pretty damn useful."  
"Altogether, Voyager is a treasure house of many amazing new technologies,"   
agreed Gelb. "I know several departments who can't wait to get their hands on   
those advancements. They estimate it could take years just to properly   
assimilate all this new knowledge."  
No one chose to comment on his poor choice of words.  
"Some of the tech Voyager is carrying, like the Zorro, or whatever you call 'em,   
cloak is illegal under Federation law," Cobum remarked.  
"Oh, there are ways of getting around the problem," Ross said confidently. "This   
isn't unlike the situation where the Defiant was equipped with a Romulan cloak   
during the war, for exclusive use in the Gamma Quadrant."  
"Added to the fact that this *Zornon* cloak is being deployed in the Delta   
Quadrant," put in Necheyev unexpectedly. "The Treaty of Algeron prohibits   
Federation use of a cloak in the Alpha or Beta Quadrants explicitly. It says   
nothing about the other quadrants."  
"More technicalities," Cobum sniffed.  
"No, just a different viewpoint," said Gelb. "Not unlike many of Janeway's   
command decisions, which are b-b-based upon the ability to think outside of the   
b-b-box when necessary. Sometimes it takes an 'unconventional' captain to b-b-e   
able to recognize and adapt to changing situations and circumstances."  
Blanc had been quiet for several minutes; he had recovered some of his   
composure. His voice was low, but his words had not lost any of their vehemence.   
"This is the way to anarchy. You call it unconventional--I call it dangerous.   
The regulations exist for a reason. We simply cannot have an individual captain   
taking matters into her own hands, selectively deciding which rules she'll obey   
and which not." He paused, his jaw working. "Wasn't that Ransom's excuse after   
all?"  
Hayes half rose from his seat. "There's a difference between Janeway's actions   
and what Ransom did."  
"One was a murderer, the other made a pact with murderers," Blanc shot back.   
"It's just a difference of degree."  
Teller leaned forward. "You seem determined to treat her as a sinner. Which I'm   
not sure she is. At any rate, due to the circumstances Janeway found herself in,   
she was more sinned against than sinning."  
Blanc's lips tightened. "But neither is she a saint, as you seem to think."  
"Perhaps she's not ready to be canonized just yet," Teller said quietly. "But   
why do you insist on turning her into a martyr? Because mark my words, that's   
exactly what's going to happen if you persist in this campaign to vilify her."  
"I agree," Necheyev said grudgingly. "Whatever we decide, it has to be based on   
reason, not on rampant emotionalism." She picked up her PADD. "When the ship   
gets home, that is." She gave an ironic smile. "It's quite possible that all   
this argument, all these meetings we're having, will ultimately be for nothing.   
It may be a very long time till Voyager gets back."  
"But the slipstream--" began Ross.  
"Who knows how the slipstream will work?" countered Necheyev. "Or what state it   
will leave the ship in?" She repeated, "All of these deliberations could be for   
nothing."  
Hayes shook his head. "Knowing Janeway, she'll bring that ship and crew back as   
fast as she can, and in as close to perfect condition as possible." He paused   
and then muttered under his breath, "Bet she'll even have the damned carpets   
cleaned first."  
***  
Anne felt as if her head was going to explode. She had returned home the week   
before from five insanely busy days in San Francisco, had scarcely stopped to   
breathe since, but she was still frustrated that there was so much she simply   
hadn't had time for, so much that still needed doing now. But she *had* gotten a   
lot done, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time. In addition to several   
interviews with as many Starfleet officials as had been willing to speak with   
her, she and Kaylyn had discussed Admiral Paris' proposal at length and had   
spent most of their free time mapping out a plan of action. Mitch Dalby had   
joined them for part of that time, and the three of them had considered how to   
best shape their organization into an effective lobbying force. Keeping in mind   
what Paris had said about enlisting the media to their cause, they had even   
hired a public relations advisor.  
The news had spread rapidly among the 'network', and all of the families were   
eager to help. It hadn't taken long to discover that Alan McGuiness had a friend   
whose cousin worked at the office of the Federation President in Paris. More   
importantly, he'd been able to schedule a meeting between President M'Renn and   
the newly elected officers of the Voyager Family Association.  
It seemed as though she had scarcely unpacked her things, said hello to her own   
family, and now she had to prepare for another trip.  
She was carrying a freshly folded pile of underwear from the refresher unit,   
along with several blouses, when she nearly collided with her oldest son coming   
around the corner.  
"Goodness, JJ, you startled me!" she said.  
"Sorry, Mum."  
She placed the topmost layers of her load into his arms. "Here. Most of this is   
yours."  
He lifted up a pair of shorts, his face wrinkled in distaste. "This belongs to   
Patrick, not me. It's way too small to be mine."  
"Then be so good as to put in his drawer for him," Anne said, heading toward the   
stairs. She called over her shoulder, "And it would be nice if you could pick up   
and put away the rest of the laundry for me. I'm really pressed for time."  
He trailed after her into her bedroom and stood watching as she started placing   
items in the open suitcase on the bed.  
"You're leaving again?" he asked.  
She didn't pause in her task of packing. "We talked about this, remember, dear?   
We're meeting with the President. Can you imagine that! The President of the   
Federation." She looked up and saw his brows draw together in a frown. "This is   
only going to be a short trip, just overnight, or two days at the most. Not at   
all like San Francisco."  
"But you're leaving again! How can you just take off and leave us like this?"   
His tone was accusing.  
His reaction puzzled her. "Yes, I'm going away, but I will be back soon, and you   
will *not* be alone. Nana will be here--"  
He drew himself up to his full height. At nearly fifteen years of age he was   
already more than a head taller than she was and showed no signs of slowing down   
any time soon. "I'm not a baby, Mum, who needs someone to stay with me," he said   
angrily with a toss of his head.  
"Then what do you mean?" She shook her head, then stopped and looked at him more   
closely. He resembled his father more and more with each passing day, it seemed,   
she thought idly in the corner of her mind. "JJ, I'm not a telepath. You're   
obviously upset, and I'd really appreciate it if you would tell me why instead   
of just standing there glowering at me."  
It was quiet for a long moment, as he clearly debated what he wanted to say.   
Then, "You're never around anymore!" he burst out.  
"That's not fair," she said heatedly, beginning to feel angry in turn. "I have   
made every effort to be here for you--I haven't missed a single soccer match,   
made sure I was back from San Francisco in time to meet with your teachers at--"  
"That's not what I meant," he interrupted. "It's just...I don't know." He bowed   
his head and turned away slightly. She moved over to him and gently lifted his   
chin till his eyes met hers.  
"You mean I'm not around when you want me to be, to have someone to talk to,"   
she said quietly.  
He nodded. "Yeah, I guess." In his eyes she saw the little boy once more,   
bewildered by his father's absence, not understanding why Daddy wasn't coming   
home and why Mummy sat anxiously watching the newsvids, jumping every time the   
comm sounded. Her heart clenched inside her. She couldn't fault JJ; he was   
feeling Joe's absence even more now that he was getting older. She had tried to   
make it up to both boys, be both mother *and* father, tried to make them never   
feel they were shortchanged by having only one parent. She had set herself an   
impossible task. And now it seemed she wasn't even filling her own role   
properly.  
She passed her hand tiredly over her face. "I know you don't entirely   
understand, but I'm doing this for you, JJ, and for Patrick, and for all the   
other families. Someone has to stand up and make sure our voices are heard." She   
reached out and stroked his cheek, surprised to feel a faint down of hair   
beneath her fingertips. "I didn't ask for this job, but somehow, it fell to me.   
Just like no one asked your father or any of the other brave men and women on   
Voyager if they wanted to be flung across the galaxy, separated from everyone   
and everything by a distance so vast it would ordinarily take nearly a lifetime   
to cross. Life is full of trials and difficulties, of all kinds." She closed her   
eyes tightly, forcing back the tears. "What matters is how we face our trials,   
how we bear the burdens that God has chosen to give us."  
"Father Ryan says that God doesn't give us a test that's more than we can bear,"   
JJ said thoughtfully.  
"I certainly hope so, darling, but I have to confess, sometimes I wonder about   
that." She forced a smile. "But instead of focusing on the difficulty, what's   
more important is how we greet our trials, if we face them bravely and   
cheerfully, or with great reluctance and complaining. Though it's very hard, I'm   
trying to do my best." Her gaze locked with his. "My best for all of us."  
Act 4  
The main section at the Pathfinder complex was bustling with activity, as usual.   
Various personnel were stationed at instrument consoles on both the upper and   
lower levels, rapidly feeding in data and performing correlations and   
probability analyses. One entire bank of computers was dedicated solely to the   
link-up of the MIDAS array, and two-way communication and manipulation. On the   
chamber's upper level, a large 3-dimensional holographic display of the Delta   
Quadrant was visible, with Voyager's course glowing in red. Over the past seven   
years, it resembled nothing so much as a giant earthworm with a case of severe   
indigestion, Paris thought. Numerous twists and turns and doubling back on   
itself, coupled with 'shortcuts' and an occasional jump of several thousand   
light years--yet the general direction always remained the same, toward the   
Alpha Quadrant. If all went well with the slipstream, another dozen or so jumps   
and then Voyager's journey would be at an end.  
Paris stood still for a few moments, simply enjoying the air of hustle and   
expectation. When he was here, at the heart of Pathfinder, he was imbued with a   
sense of purpose, reminded again of just what they were trying to   
accomplish--and it didn't seem unattainable.  
He turned sharply when he heard his name called. "Admiral Paris!" said Commander   
Craig, hurrying up behind him. "Do you have a few moments?"  
"Of course," Paris replied. He waited for the Starfleet Press Liaison to catch   
up to him. "As a matter of fact, there's something I've been meaning to ask you,   
Craig."  
"Certainly, sir." If Craig was a little put-out over having to wait to bring up   
his own issues, he gave no indication. Paris studied the slender blond man   
standing before him, the pale heavy-lidded eyes which gave away no secrets, the   
smoothly expressionless face. Oh yes, Craig was very good at what he did.  
"I was checking through the newsvids over the past month," Paris said by way of   
preamble.  
Craig looked concerned. "Is there a problem with the Voyager coverage?"  
"I find it curious that there's been no mention whatsoever of the new slipstream   
drive," Paris said.  
Craig's face changed subtly. "The drive, for all its potential, is still in the   
experimental stage. Therefore, an executive decision was made--"  
"According to the tracking at Pathfinder, it appears to be working just fine,"   
Paris cut in. "Our latest scans show a displacement of Voyager's position by   
several hundred light years. We won't know for sure the precise gain until the   
next datastream transmission in a few days, but there's no question that the   
slipstream works."  
"Be it as it may," Craig hemmed, "prudence and caution dictate that we should   
wait for confirmation of that success before we make any public announcement."  
Paris' eyes narrowed. "There's caution and then there's censorship," he said   
bluntly. "From where I'm sitting, it's hard to tell just what it is you've got   
in mind."  
"Admiral Paris, surely not!" protested Craig. "Of course this is not an attempt   
at censorship, nor am I advocating withholding of information--without due   
cause. There's the security issue, first of all. But even more importantly, we   
have to think of the families--why get their hopes up on a mere possibility?"  
Paris snorted. "Your intention here is to protect the families? Believe me,   
Craig, you'd be surprised at just how much they know."  
A small group of people were gathered around one of the wall video monitors.   
Craig looked up sharply and blanched.  
"...live report of the meeting between representatives of the Voyager Family   
Association with Federation President M'Renn, just a few minutes ago. The head   
of the VFA, Anne Carey, wife of Voyager engineer Lieutenant Joseph Carey,   
announced that Voyager has developed a new faster-than-warp drive, utilizing   
principles of slipstream, and is expected to be home within the year if all goes   
well. As expected, this news has been greeted by a major flurry of excitement,   
with many people wondering why this is only now coming to the public's   
attention--"  
"If you'll excuse me, Admiral," Craig said quickly. He didn't wait for an answer   
before rushing in the direction of his office, already talking rapidly into his   
comm badge. It was damage control time, and Craig was undoubtedly already trying   
to see how he could spin this latest development to Starfleet's advantage.  
Paris smiled humorlessly. He resumed his walk to his own office, nodding to   
those who had turned away from the video monitor and gone back to work.  
Lieutenant Barclay and Commander Harkins were standing in the center of the room   
in mid-discussion, oblivious to anything else going on around them, or to the   
fact that they were blocking their project leader's path. Paris gave up and   
simply stepped around them, overhearing a snatch of their conversation.  
"...it's the phase variance which has been the problem all along," Harkins was   
saying. "If we could solve that, then the basic instability--"  
"I'm not disagreeing with you," Barclay interrupted. His hair looked distinctly   
rumpled, as if he had just been tearing at it in an excess of nerves or creative   
energy. "Yes, in previous attempts the variance kept rising, causing the quantum   
matrix to overload. And all attempts since to keep the variance stable, by   
compensating for the spatial gradients, or otherwise keeping the deflector   
geometry stable were failures."  
"As I said," began Harkins with just a hint of exasperation.  
"But what if we approached the problem from the other direction--the quantum   
matrix itself?" Barclay paused, almost quivering with anticipation.  
"Yes!" said Harkins excitedly, and then his face fell. "No, that won't   
work--then you're back at square one in terms of the slipstream kinetics   
themselves. Not to mention the hyperdimensional progressions."  
"Not necessarily," argued Barclay. "A thought occurred to me last night when I   
was discussing the possibility of developing real-time communication with   
Admiral Chapman over at the Starfleet Corps of Engineers..."  
Paris shook his head as the conversation proceeded to go off in an entirely   
different direction. He glanced once more at Barclay, who was now waving his   
arms and gesturing wildly, and at Harkins who had apparently given up on the   
'reasonable' approach and was trying by dint of shouting to get a word in   
edgewise. A more unlikely set of engineers had probably never been assembled for   
a project of this magnitude, and yet the facts were that without Barclay and   
company Pathfinder might never have gotten off the ground.  
Paris sat down at his desk and quickly looked through his messages, his mind   
still on the scene he'd just witnessed. Why was it, he mused, that genius and   
eccentricity always seemed to go together? But he was grateful for it in   
whatever package it came wrapped in, as it had given him and the other Voyager   
families the possibility of hope.  
Act 5  
"In the event of any perceived irregularities during administrative review   
following a space mission, a Review Board will be convened. Three admirals   
will sit on this Board, and are empowered to call upon any experts they   
choose. At the end of their review, they may do one of three things: (1)   
determine the matter ended (2) refer the matter to a formal Board of Inquiry   
if they suspect a breach of regulations that do not give rise to criminal   
actions (3) refer the matter directly to Court Martial if criminal actions are   
suspected."  
Manual of Operating Procedure, Starfleet Command,   
Section 23-alpha, Paragraph 14  
"So that's it then," Gelb said quietly. He picked at his plate of sushi, then   
thrust his torso forward and angled his head slightly to catch Teller's gaze.   
The two of them were alone in the Admiralty's private dining room. "It's useless   
to speculate--nothing official will happen until the Review B-b-board, and   
*that* won't take place until after Voyager has returned."  
"I'm well aware of that." Teller stirred her coffee, but did not drink it.   
"Based on what I saw in that meeting room, the attitudes of some of the   
others...I have more than a few misgivings about how it's ultimately going to   
turn out."  
Gelb placed his webbed hand very near, but not quite touching, Teller's gnarled   
fingers. "There was a g-g-great deal of sound and fury, but in reality little of   
substance. Hayes will follow Starfleet procedure and regulations--he can't very   
well do anything else."  
"I'm aware of that as well."  
Gelb hesitated. "You are still troubled."  
"An astute observation." She pushed her cup aside and leaned forward, resting   
her elbows on the table. "Starfleet has changed, Gelb, and I don't just mean   
since the old days."  
The corners of his mouth turned up. "'As sure as fry g-g-grow into fingerlings,   
and fingerlings b-b-begin to spawn...' Time marches on, my friend, and change is   
inevitable. That which doesn't change stagnates and dies."  
Teller snorted softly. "Of course things change--especially over the span of a   
long career like mine. Or yours, for that matter. But some things *shouldn't*   
change. A captain's first responsibility is to his ship and crew. That's as true   
now as it was one hundred years ago. Even the hard-liners can't fault Janeway   
for her actions in that respect."  
"No, they can't," Gelb said. "Although they can and do deplore her more   
'unconventional' methods."  
Silence fell as Teller returned to what was left of her lunch. Gelb simply   
waited.  
"During the last decade, Starfleet Command has undergone a number of changes,   
not all of them welcome," she said at last. "We've always said that Starfleet is   
not a military organization, but the truth is that the 'kinder, gentler' image   
of the past is rapidly being supplanted. Perhaps this is inevitable, considering   
some of the threats we've faced recently." Her voice took on an edge. "During   
the war, many questionable activities were heartily endorsed by some of those   
very same admirals, actions that make Janeway's alleged violations of Starfleet   
regs pale in comparison. So don't talk to me about 'unconventional' methods."  
"I prefer the term 'innovative' myself," Gelb said with a small gurgle. He   
quickly sobered. "There's a certain quality that enables a field commander to   
assess a situation, weigh the available options, and if the odds still aren't   
satisfactory, change them till they are. Call it b-b-brilliance, sheer   
nerve--not many of our current crop of captains have this ability."  
"In the old days, Starfleet welcomed captains of her caliber, valued the   
mavericks above the strictly by-the-book types," Teller said sharply, then   
sighed. "If it weren't for captains like Janeway, where would the Federation,   
let alone Starfleet, be today?"  
***  
March 19, 2002  
Just a quick postscript, Joe, before I send off this letter. The meeting   
between the representatives of the VFA--Kaylyn, Mitch and myself, along with   
T'Pel who came in unexpectedly from Vulcan--and the President went off very   
well. We weren't sure until the last moment if M'Renn herself was actually   
going to meet with us or if she'd foist us off on some underling--though I   
well remember your comments about it being a rare politician who can resist   
the chance for a photo-op!  
M'Renn was most cordial. I've never met a Caitian before--actually, I don't   
think I've met any member of a felinoid species till now. I'm pretty sure   
that was true for Kaylyn and Mitch as well. You should have seen the lot of   
us--there we were, posed on the steps of the Presidential Palace, with Mitch   
trying very hard not to trip over or step on the Presidential tail which   
kept darting from side to side! I would have laughed at his discomfort, if I   
wasn't worried about doing the same thing myself.  
The 'balance' for the holophoto couldn't have been any better if we'd   
consciously planned it in advance--one 'Fleeter, one Maquis, one Equinox and   
one non-Human. But just like Voyager itself has grown beyond these initial   
divisions, moved past these factions to form one unit, one 'family', so too   
have the relatives bonded. Once again, our common need has drawn us all   
together.  
The President was most interested to hear about the slipstream drive and   
what it means in terms of the ship getting home. She offered reassurances   
that the people of the Federation stand behind us and support us 100%   
through our 'arduous ordeal' and said how proud she is of the brave men and   
women on Voyager.  
And now I really do have to end this letter and send it off, or it'll never   
make it into this month's datastream. The boys and I miss you so much, Joe.   
We can't wait to have you home with us again.  
Love,   
Annie  
Epilogue  
Stardate 55207.8 (March 21, 2002)  
Paris nodded curtly to the aide in the outer room and strode into Hayes' office.   
The Commander in Chief was in the midst of a comm conversation. He looked at   
Paris for a long moment, then waved him into a chair in front of the desk.  
"Yes, Madame President. I understand. Of course, it was never our intention to   
conceal---" Hayes fell silent. Finally, he said, "Yes, I will personally see to   
it." He cut the connection and closed his eyes.  
Paris waited. He looked around Hayes' office; he had rarely been here. Hayes   
preferred to conduct his meetings in other settings, for the most part. Despite   
its larger size, the office was really no different from the rooms occupied by   
other Starfleet bureaucrats, regardless of rank. It was oddly austere. There   
were only a few personal touches, primarily paintings. Strictly modern, and by   
mostly non-Human artists. The one incongruous note was a large old-fashioned   
grandfather clock in the corner. Even as Paris' glance fell upon it, it chimed   
the hour.  
Hayes at last opened his eyes; he did not look pleased to see the other man.   
"Yes, Owen, what can I do for you?"  
Paris leaned forward, a data PADD in his hand. "The latest datastream communiqué   
from Voyager."  
Hayes made no move to take it. "Any more 'bombshells' in store this time?" He   
smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.  
"Nothing to compare to last month's," Paris said calmly, placing the PADD in   
front of Hayes. "Their first attempt at the slipstream was a success, resulting   
in their traveling 838 light years. In just a matter of minutes. The next   
attempt, after a refractory period of several weeks, should be more of the same.   
However..." his voice trailed off, as he watched Hayes' reaction. All vestiges   
of a smile had now vanished. "There's something here that I think you should see   
right away."  
"Problem?"  
"No, I wouldn't exactly call it that."  
Hayes was clearly losing patience. "All right, Owen, why don't you just spit it   
out?"  
"It's a message from Janeway." Paris leaned over and activated the PADD, calling   
up the particular passage he had marked earlier. "Addressed to you personally.   
After the usual pleasantries, she says, and I quote--"  
"Never mind the exact words--what does she want?"  
Paris leaned forward once more, his gaze locked with that of the Commander in   
Chief. "She wants some answers, Jack, about what's going on. And I can't say   
that she's the only one."  
Hayes' eyes darted toward the clock, its pendulum swinging back and forth in a   
steady rhythm, not stopping or faltering for a moment. "Tell her...tell her   
everything's fine." He met Paris' eyes once more. "And that we're looking   
forward to greeting them upon their arrival home. All of them."  
FINIS  
  
Note: Anne Carey and her children appear courtesy of Monkee.  
  
Next Retribution. 


End file.
